


The Case of of the Sticky-Fingered Son

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: Jennifer Keller hired Rodney McKay, Private Detective to find her missing brother. Turns out, it takes an entire team to solve the case.





	The Case of of the Sticky-Fingered Son

**Author's Note:**

> This story is much better thanks to the beta efforts of Mezzo-Cammin. Written for the Story Works Case Fic challenge.

Stepping into the diner, Rodney McKay, private investigator, unbuttoned his trench coat and flexed his shoulders. The pockets were too handy to bother to take it off. Wrinkles be damned, it wasn't as if a few more would be noticed. He kicked the wet slush off his shoes. A surprise November snowfall had swept through late last night, leaving two inches of wet mush behind. 

He sat down at his favorite booth. _Kavanagh 's Diner_ sat on the seedier side of Buffalo Grove but it served his purpose. He pulled out his notepad and began going over his scribbles as he waited for the waitress to bring him coffee.

Pie. Maybe he'd take time for a piece of pie. Lunch had been six, no, seven hours ago and he hadn’t felt much like eating at the time. Funny how standing over a stabbing victim tended to kill his appetite. While he'd seen coroners munching down on a tuna on rye in the morgue, Rodney had never managed that air of detachment. 

Eighteen years of doing this job had left him without any illusions and a stomach that wasn't any stronger than when he'd started. 

"How's life treating you today, Mr. McKay?" 

The waitress, Karen, Carol, Keri, something, damn it, he could never get the name right, poured his coffee, filling his cup to the brim just the way he liked it. What was the point of saving room for cream and sugar if he never used it?

"Same ol' same ol' . . . Cara." Thank God for name tags. 

"Is that nice Mr. Dearman going to be joining you? He sure is a nice-looking fella, if you don't mind me saying so." 

Rodney took a sip of his coffee. His eyes fluttered shut at what had to be the best cup of coffee in the state. It's why he kept coming back here, annoying questions and all. He knew the minute he admitted that, yes, John was meeting him here, Cara would be off to the powder room to freshen her lipstick and God only knew what else. He knew because it happened every time. 

Not that he could blame her. John Dearman was a handsome devil. Over six feet of lean muscle, unruly dark hair, and hazel eyes all wrapped up in a rakish attitude, Rodney would admit to a slight twinge of envy. 

He nearly matched John in height, minus an inch or two. And, while he leaned towards a softer middle, he outmatched John in the breadth of his shoulders. Plus, his last name was real, unlike the pseudonym Dearman. He hadn't figured out what John was hiding, not yet, but that was only because he hadn't thrown his detective skills into it.

"Before I answer, bring me a piece of apple pie with a slice of cheddar." Taking pity on her, he added, "Yes he's coming. Go ahead, make it a double order of pie and leave us a pot of coffee."

Cara's hand fluttered up to her cheek. Probably to check her makeup. He sighed. John had that effect on people and it wasn't just limited to the fairer sex. Rodney didn't have time for that nonsense. He had a case to solve. 

Rodney looked up when he heard the door open. John met his eyes and nodded. Dressed in a black turtleneck and dark jeans he sauntered over to Rodney's booth and sat down. 

Cara came over, bringing pie and coffee and wearing a fresh coat of lipstick. "Mr. Dearman, can I bring you anything else?" she asked, completely ignoring Rodney's eye-roll.

"I'm good. Thank you." 

Cara hovered for a minute more, but when neither man responded she left them in peace. Rodney lifted his coffee cup to his mouth. "If you keep smiling at her every time she comes over she's never going to leave us in peace."

John rested his arm on the back of the bench seat. "You like it when she comes over because she refills your coffee cup."

Rodney had to admit John had a point. "Eat your pie." 

John dug in. He was halfway through his pie before he looked up and asked, "What's up?"

Rodney took a carefully folded _Chicago Times_ newspaper clipping out of his coat pocket. He smoothed out the wrinkles and spread it out on the table between them. Tapping the edge of the black and white photo he asked, "Do you know who this is?"

"That's Paul and Dixannia Keller. The faces are grainy but I recognize that waistcoat. Mr. Keller had a designer make up several with his family crest. Wears them everywhere. Talk about pretentious. The others two are their grown sons, Aiden and Malcolm. Didn't the oldest son win some yachting trophy last year?" John asked.

"That would be Aiden Keller. There was some dustup about their uncle and bribery charges but nothing was ever proved." 

"I remember something about that. Seemed like one of those upper-crust tempests in a teapot that money has a way of making disappear." John licked the last of his pie from his fork.

Rodney tore his gaze away from the stubbled line of John's jaw. Back to the case. "It's the younger brother, Malcolm Keller, I'm interested in. This picture was taken last week. It's the last time all of them were seen together in public." Rodney flipped a page in his notebook. "Malcolm Keller, twenty-one years old. Last seen three days ago."

"A missing persons case?" John asked, looking up in surprise. "Why didn't the parents go to the police?"

"Ah, there's also some jewelry of his mother's that just happened to disappear at the same time." 

"The plot thickens." John relaxed back against the seat in a loose, easy move that Rodney could never hope to emulate. "They don't want the police involved because they suspect their son stole them. His parents are either trying to protect him or avoid a scandal. Probably both. What else?"

"A murder that may or may not be related." 

John perked up. "Now, that does sound interesting."

"Listen, Dearman, I don't want you getting tangled up in this. It could get dangerous." Rodney wasn't comforted by the glint of interest in John's eyes. "You've got contacts I don't have privy to, so do me a favor. Just ask around and see if anyone's seen the kid. Nothing else."

"Sure." John dragged the clipping closer and hummed. "When did his parents contact you?"

"They didn't. There's a sister. Jennifer. Know her? Petite blond, blue eyes, and very concerned about her brother. She came into my office yesterday afternoon and dropped an envelope of cash in my lap."

John's eyes narrowed. "She's back."

That caught him by surprise. He'd just found out about the sister but John sounded like he knew her. Jennifer had been off at some fancy medical school for the last four years, keeping a low profile. The first time Rodney had even realized she existed was the day she hired him. "You know her." 

"That's not important." John changed the topic with an impatient wave. "You mentioned a murder. How sure are you that Malcolm is alive?"

"Fairly certain." Rodney's relationship with John Dearman walked a fine line. They talked about a lot of things and had solved a few cases together, but personal history remained off limits. It had never bothered him before and he wouldn't let it bother him now.

As long as it didn't affect the case, he had no reason to pry into John's history with Jennifer. Relaxing his tight grip on his fork, he set it down carefully next to his plate. He kept his expression bland as he raised his eyes to meet John's. 

Meanwhile, John began ticking points off on the tips of his fingers as he counted the possibilities. "Jewelry is missing. Malcolm is missing. Blackmail? Was he stupid enough to be carrying the jewelry, end up being robbed and his body dumped somewhere? Did he get mixed up with the wrong crowd and wind up in a dumpster? He could have—"

Rodney cut him off. "I know all that. But if I want to get paid, I have to find Malcolm Keller and return him safely to his mother's bosom. So, let's go with the best-case scenario."

John raised his eyebrows. "Malcolm, a spoiled mamma's boy, did something stupid and now he's in way over his head and hiding out somewhere?"

Rodney grinned back at him. "That's my theory and I'm running with it because if I don't find him and get paid soon, the city is going shut off my water."

~*~

Rodney returned to his office. He'd just settled at his desk when his cell phone rang. A quick glance at the number told him it was Jennifer Keller. Damn it. She'd be looking for a status report on her brother. Right now, he had nothing good to say. "Hello, Ms. Keller."

"Mr. McKay. It's been forty-eight hours since you took the case. Have you got any news about my brother?"

"Not yet. And I'm afraid that I'm going to need more of a retainer if you want me to keep looking."

"Fine, I'll drop a check off at your office this afternoon. Will five hundred be enough?"

Rodney's mouth snapped shut. Jennifer must be getting desperate. "Yes, that's fine. I do have an update on your brother."

"Really?" she sounded breathless and eager over the phone and Rodney hated that he didn't have a better lead.

"No one matching your brother's description has shown up in any of the city's hospitals, or in the morgues."

The line went dead quiet. Crap, he probably could have handled that more delicately. "Miss Keller, are you still there?"

"Yes. You just caught me by surprise. But that's—that is good news. Are you certain you don't have any other leads? I'm not asking just for me. My mother and my uncle have been pressing for some answers. I'm sure you understand." 

Interesting. She hadn't mentioned her father or her brother Aiden. Weren't they equally concerned? If not, why not? Rodney pulled out his notepad and jotted that down. Possibly John might have some insight to add. Without missing a beat, he asked, "Have you reconsidered bringing the police in on this?"

"No. Not yet, there's still…."

Okay, good. He didn't need to feel guilty about taking her money. "Still what, Miss Keller?"

"Please understand, I've been away and not once in any of his letters did Malcolm mention…my uncle says…we think there's a boyfriend." She bit off a sharp, hoarse laugh that sounded on the edge of tears. "It's so stupid in this day and age but my father is not a tolerant man. With his weak heart, the scandal could... I’m sure you understand, Mr. McKay."

Rodney repressed the impulse to pound his phone against his desk. A boyfriend? That little piece of information could be his best lead. Drawing a slow breath, he waited for the pulse in his temple to stop pounding before asking, "Do you know the name of this boyfriend or have a picture of him? It could narrow the search."

"No. I just found out about it myself. I can ask my uncle."

"Do that." Rodney hung up. He needed to talk to John. He hit the speed dial. John wouldn't answer, he hated phones almost as much as Rodney did, but he could leave a message. "Dearman. Seven p.m. You know the place." 

Done, he drummed his fingers on his desk. Jennifer Keller should be stopping by soon with his check. She was paying him for answers. He needed to give her some. Right now, John was busy trying to chase down the jewelry angle. If Malcolm had fenced the stuff anywhere in this town, John Dearman would find it. 

As for how and where John acquired that information, well, that was one of the things they didn't talk about. But he hadn't let Rodney down yet.

It didn't do any good to press John for results. When he had something, he'd be in touch. Rodney unlocked the desk's file drawer, hand hovering over the newest file. He steeled his stomach, pulled the file and flipped it open. 

As much as he appreciated Detective Lorne going out on a limb to send him the morgue photographs, they weren't pretty to look at. According to Lorne's notes, the victim's name was Harold Maybourne. Petty gangster and wannabe mob boss, Harry dabbled in a multitude of crimes. Thief, prostitution, bribery—that was a big one—not afraid of getting his hands dirty running illegal arms deals. Harry had made a lot of enemies.

Rodney avoided looking at the gory display of knife wounds and flipped to the next photo. This is the one that interested him. Here Harry's personal effects were on display, including the pinky ring he'd been wearing. Rodney grabbed up his magnifying glass for a better look. 

Certain now of what he was seeing, he put the glass down and leaned back in his chair. What the hell was Maybourne doing with a piece of the stolen Keller jewelry? Who killed him? Why?

More importantly to this case, was Malcolm Keller a victim or a perpetrator? 

Fuck. Rodney reached for his phone. If there was any chance Malcolm murdered Maybourne he had to tell Lorne about his missing persons case and Malcolm's connection to the stolen ring. He stared at his phone, finger poised over the speed dial. What if he was wrong? 

Rodney set the phone down and ran his hands through his hair. He needed to think. Dust motes floated aimlessly in the air as the clock on the wall ticked off the minutes. His office sat on the third floor of an old office building. Scratched wood flooring with schoolroom style wainscoting plus an aged industrial heating system made the place affordable. The tall windows behind his desk gave him an excellent view of the street. 

One day, maybe he could afford something modern but for now, all he had was quiet, creaky ambiance to help him think. He was startled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door.

Without waiting for a reply, Jennifer stepped into his office. Her high heels clicked briskly over the floor as she stepped up to his desk. "Mr. McKay, I've come to drop off your payment."

Rodney quickly shoved the photos back into the folder and dropped them into the drawer. Reaching for the check, he tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Great." He stood and moved towards the coat rack.

"You're leaving?" Her pretty blue eyes filled with tears. 

"Uh, no. I mean, it can wait." Damn it, he was no good at dealing with feminine waterworks. What the hell should he do? If she were a guy, he'd pour her a stiff drink, punch her in the shoulder and tell her to buck up. That didn't seem likely to work in this case. 

He hung his coat back up before pulling out a chair. "Have a seat, Miss Keller.” He tried smiling but couldn't make it stick. Dearman was much better at this stuff, and Rodney tried to remember how in hell he did it. 

"Call me Jennifer, please, Mr. McKay."

"Yeah, sure." 

She delicately dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a lace handkerchief she'd pulled out of her handbag. "I'm terribly worried about my brother. Haven't there been any clues at all?"

Rodney leaned back against his desk. "I have a possible lead. Tell me more about your family."

"I haven't been home much in the last four years. I don't know how much help I can be."

"Tell me about your uncle?"

"My uncle Steven? Steven Caldwell, he's my mom's brother. I can't say that my father fully approves of uncle Steve but he's been a steadying rock through all this. I don't know what we would do right now without his and my aunt Elizabeth's support."

"Aunt Elizabeth?" Rodney asked.

"Oh, that's uncle Steven's wife. It's his second marriage, but you'd never know it the way she fits in. Now that I think about it, she's been at our house every day since this happened." 

"Could you go into a little more detail? What kind of support? By any chance is he the one that convinced you not to go to the police?"

Jennifer stared blankly back at him but her knuckles whitened as her grip tightened on her handkerchief. "I don't think I like what you're implying Mr. McKay. I told you, my father has heart problems. We don't want to add to his stress levels if there's no reason to. It could kill him."

"Hm, so you've said. What about the boyfriend? Has your uncle come up with a name?"

"Oh, yes!" She reached back into her handbag and pulled out a picture. "This is the two of them together, my brother and Anthony Abrams. The taller one is Tony."

"This looks like it was taken at summer camp, several years ago. What are they, ten years old?" What the hell was she expecting him to do with this? At least he'd gotten a name.

She shook her head. "Not quite that young. That was taken six or seven years ago. Malcolm would have been thirteen or fourteen."

"Did they stay in touch? Or did they meet up again years later?" Rodney asked. 

"I have no idea, but in light of what we know now, Tony was probably Malcolm's first crush. Does that help?"

A teenaged seven-year-old crush was no fucking help at all, but Rodney smiled at her anyway. "Even the smallest detail can help, Jennifer. Thank you."

God, John would be laughing so hard right now if he heard the bullshit coming out of his mouth. "If you'll excuse me, I have an appointment I need to keep." 

He waited for her to stand and walked her to the door. "Please, if you find out anything more about Abrams, let me know."

"Of course." With that, she walked out the door and Rodney closed it behind her with a sigh. Any lead would help, but his money was on the uncle.

He pulled the check from his pocket. Five hundred dollars. For a simple piece of paper, the check weighed heavily in his hand. He needed this money more than he liked to admit. 

Going to the police against the family's wishes would undoubtedly get him fired and hurt his reputation. Maybe he could call Detective Lorne after he went to the bank? Maybourne was already dead, what difference would it make?

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Rodney made it two steps before he halted in his tracks. Oh, hell. Bowing to the inevitable, he pulled out his phone and dialed the precinct. "This is Private Investigator Rodney McKay. Put me through to Detective Lorne."

The voice on the other end of the line unhelpfully informed him that Lorne wasn't available and could he take a message?"

"Tell him…." Rodney's fingers curled around the check and he took a deep breath. "Tell him I've got some information about his latest case."

~*~

"I don't think it's the uncle."

Rodney glared at John who was sitting on the opposite side of the booth, slowly shaking his head. "Oh! I beg to differ, Dearman, there's every indication that good ol' uncle Steve is guilty." 

It was 7:15 p.m. Rodney had arrived a few minutes late to find John already there and waiting for him. 

"Naw, nope, not buying it."

"Why not?" Rodney began counting down on his fingertips. "He has a past history that hints of shady deals. He has free access to the house, so presumably access to the jewelry, and finally, he knew about Malcolm's boyfriend, Abrams."

Throwing him a verbal curveball, John asked, "Is Detective Lorne going to let us check out the morgue?"

"I didn't ask. Why would I?" 

John cocked his head. "To see Maybourne's body, of course."

"I'm trying to eat my pie. Could you refrain from mentioning dead bodies?" Rodney took a big bite of his apple pie and didn't bother to chew with his mouth closed. 

"Suave, McKay." John lifted his cup for a refill and Cara hustled over with the coffee pot. "At least behave when there's a lady present."

Cara simpered. There was no other word for it. Rodney stabbed his fork into his pie. "Fine, I'll ask him to get us into the morgue. Is there anything else you want?" 

"Yep. We're going to a party. And you are going to wear something decent for a change."

"What?"

"I found out where Abrams is going to be next Friday night. He'll be attending a party to raise money for a local charity. It's being held at one of the Sheppard estates. If you expect to get in the door, we're going to have to spruce you up."

"Don’t you need a invitation for something like that?" Rodney asked. And what the hell was wrong with the way he dressed?

"Already got 'em. I know someone who knows someone." John leaned back and smiled. "I'm not just a pretty face, you know."

Rodney refrained from burying his face in his hands, but just barely. "I suppose you have this all planned out?" 

"I do. All you have to do is trust me."

The ridiculous thing about it was, Rodney did.

He'd learned to trust John Dearman. He found himself questioning that judgement as he stood in front of the mirror checking out his reflection. Standing in the fancy-schmanchy tailor's shop in downtown's high-end district was the last place he'd expected to be.

The Cut Above had a quiet, understated look from the outside and Rodney would have walked right by the place. John, though, had known exactly where they were going. Niam Fisher had greeted them at the door like an old friend. 

He also hadn't missed the spectacularly awkward wink tailor-guy had given John when shaking his hand. What the hell was up with that? Carefully, Rodney loosened his grip and flexed his fingers. Accidently choking himself wasn't going to find the answers. 

Rodney looked in the mirror and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his tie. It was a blue-checkered piece of silk that made him feel like he was playing dress up. He ran his hand down over the dark grey wool of the suit coat. Not bad, not bad at all. 

On the other side of the dressing room door, waiting for his appearance, stood John and the tall, blond tailor-guy with the weak chin. Damn, his weakness for names. Nami? Neemi? No, that wasn't right. Fuck it. Rodney reached into his pocket for his notepad. Right, no notepad. Tailor-guy had snatched it out of his hands, sputtering and claiming that it would ruin the line of the coat. What the hell good was a coat without usable pockets?

"Rodney, get out here," John yelled through the door. "You need to see the colors Niam's picked out for the waistcoat. If he's going to have it made by Friday, you need to decide now."

"Hold onto your horses, Dearman. I'm almost done."

He stepped back into the main room where Niam stood waiting with a tape measure draped around his neck and a piece of chalk in his hand. Sighing, Rodney moved over to the raised dais and let his measurements be taken. "Ow. Do you have to use so many pins?"

"It's all part of the process," John said, without a hint of sympathy. 

"That tie simply won't do," Niam announced with a sniff. "Wait here. I have a lovely piece of aquamarine that will bring out the blue in those stunning eyes of yours. It just arrived this morning. I'm positive it will be just the thing." 

While Niam was busy making his selection, John stepped behind the red velvet swag curtain that led to the backroom. Rodney kept his face blank and began asking questions, hoping to keep Niam from noticing John's absence.

"Are you sure this is the right color? Not green? What about this one?" Rodney pointed to a bolt of purple taffeta. "I like that one."

"Heavens, no!" Niam held his hand to his breast as if Rodney had mortally wounded him.  
When his breath settled, he placed his selection of aquamarine silk against the grey wool of Rodney's suit and nodded his approval.

"Naturally, we can't have your waistcoat in the same color. One does need at least a modicum of contrast. John, please bring me the charcoal brocade. Not that one, the midnight dark."

It looked all the same to Rodney and he rolled his eyes. 

Thankfully, John was back and he handed the material to Niam as smoothly as if he'd never left the room.

Niam laid the new color over the suit's grey material. "Yes, yes, perhaps with a bit of matching piping. Just a subtle touch, mind you." He stood back, looked Rodney over from stem to stern and frowned. "We need to do something about that white shirt. It's all wrong." He snapped his fingers. "Pearl grey or possibly cream? No, not cream, too yellow."

"Dove grey," John said. 

"Perfect!" Niam clapped his hands together. "You have a distinctive eye, Mr. Dearman. Whatever you're doing now, I'm certain your talents are completely wasted. If you're interested, we could find a place for you here. Good help is so hard to find."

"He's not interested!" Rodney snapped. 

"Oh. Well, gentlemen, I can have your new suit ready by Friday morning. All that's left is to settle the bill." He looked expectantly at Rodney, who scowled back. When he didn't get any further response, he turned towards John.

"Great." John handed him Rodney's credit card, completely ignoring the glare Rodney shot in his direction. "Someone will be here to pick it up Friday."

"Did you lift my wallet? Never mind." Rodney blinked when he looked at the bill. "My god, my car didn't cost that much. Did you know how expensive—" Rodney squawked.

Before he could finish, John shoved him back into the dressing room. "Your car came off the impound lot and I happen to know it only cost you what you put into it to fix the bullet holes. Besides, this is for a case, you can write it off on your taxes. Now, hurry up and get changed. We need to get to the morgue."

~*~

Rodney got behind the wheel of his car and quietly fumed as John took his time sliding into the passenger side.

"You're giving me the stink eye, McKay. What's up?

Avoiding John's gaze, Rodney put his car into gear and headed for the morgue. "I know we don’t talk about, you know, anything personal, but how do you know the tailor? He seemed rather chummy for a complete stranger."

When no answer was immediately forthcoming, Rodney shot a side-long glance at John, who was quietly sitting there staring out the window. 

It stayed quiet, neither speaking, until Rodney pulled up to the morgue's back entry and parked. That seemed enough to jostle John out of whatever headspace he'd escaped to and he finally spoke. "Look, there's stuff I'm not ready to talk about."

"I got that," Rodney said. "But I know you, John. You didn't pull out a phone book and look up Tailors-R-Us. You wanted us to go there, specifically. Why?"

"He knows the Keller family. Remember when I pointed out the waistcoat?" John made a face.

"Ah, the waistcoat. My God, that was ugly. He's the one that designed it?"

"Yeah." John paused. "He wouldn't remember me but when I made the appointment, I let it drop that my brother was once engaged to Jennifer."

Rodney's mouth dropped open. "Seriously? My client and your brother were engaged?"

"Yeah."

Rodney opened his mouth to speak and then paused, digesting the news that John had a brother.

"You've got to understand," John blurted, "I was young and stupid. I had no idea what I wanted or hell, who I even was, so when my brother Dave asked for my advice I didn't even stop to think. I said, sure. Go for it." 

Rodney stayed very quiet, prepared to give John all the time he needed to elaborate. 

"She was smart and pretty and came from the right sort of family. Dave seemed happy and our parents were ecstatic." John paused, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

"And then what?" Rodney asked. 

"She made no bones of the fact she had big plans. Jennifer wanted to spend a year in Paris and eventually go to medical school. I'll never know for sure if she saw Dave as her ticket to there or not because she changed her mind four weeks before the wedding." 

"Ah, that would explain why I didn't see a wedding ring on her finger." After a moment, Rodney gently asked, "What happened?" 

John released a harsh bark. "What happened? The engagement was canceled and that should have been the end of it. It became clear damn fast that she never loved Dave."

Rodney began to get a very uncomfortable feeling about where this was heading. "You don't have to—"

"No, you should know about this. But after you hear it, you might decide you no longer want my help with this case." 

Never had Rodney wanted so badly to reach out and cover John's white-knuckled fist with his hand. Instead, he used words. "Whatever it is, I'm on your side."

John slouched low, head thumping against the back of the car's seat. A long minute passed before he finally spoke. "She turned all of her attention on to me. She'd show up places she knew I frequented, batting her eyelashes and looking at me like I was the best thing since sliced bread. Hell if I know why."

"That couldn't have sat well with your brother."

"You've got that right." John stared out the windshield. "I'll never forget the hurt on Dave's face when he found out. At least it got us to talk. I explained that I never encouraged her and that she wasn't even remotely my type. Thank God, he believed me. In the end, it worked out okay between us, but damn if I know what her game was."

Finally, John turned to face him, eyes clear and more vulnerable that Rodney could ever remember seeing. "So, now you know, McKay, I'm not exactly what you call a neutral party in this investigation. I understand if you want me off it."

"Don't be an idiot." Sensing that John had filled his quota of sharing for the year, Rodney turned the topic back to the case. "How do you figure Niam Fisher fits into our case?"

"He's worked closely with the family for a long time. I think he knows something. I'm just not sure what yet. Ah, hell, maybe I just want him to be guilty because of those damn ugly waistcoats."

Rodney snorted. At least John hadn't lost his sense of humor. "Do you think he knows where Malcolm Keller is?"

John ran his hands through his hands. "Don't know. I didn't exactly uncover any clues. The only thing in the back is sewing stuff and a cutting table. Sadly, it was missing a nice, big box of stolen jewelry."

"I'll add him to our list of suspects." Rodney checked his watch. "I suppose…time to go in?"

"C'mon, Rodney. You don't want to keep Detective Lorne waiting, do you?" John got out of the car and stood there, waiting for Rodney to join him. 

Together they walked into the building and down the hall. Lorne stood in front of the double-wide stainless steels doors, holding a cup of coffee and talking to a beanpole of a guy in a lab coat. 

"Lorne," Rodney said, by way of greeting. "Thanks for helping."

"McKay, John. This is Dr. Parrish. He's our coroner today." Lorne crumpled up his empty paper coffee cup and threw it in the trash before meeting Rodney's eyes. "That info you gave me hasn't led anywhere yet, but at least it's more than we had."

"If we find out anything else, I'll let you know."

"Appreciate it, McKay. Well, come on, let's see if the body turns up any other clues."

Parrish held out a jar of Vicks. "Dab this on your nostrils. It helps with the smell."

As far as Rodney was concerned, the trip to the morgue went downhill from there. 

John bumped against his shoulder. "Hey, could be worse." John stood in front of a stainless steel table. It was empty, thank God. Above his shoulder was a viewscreen with an enlarged, colorful photo of one of the knife wounds.

"How is that better?" Rodney asked, pointing up the graphic image.

"At least they didn't have to bring out the body."

"Oh! I can do that if you prefer," Dr. Parrish offered. "But I really do think that magnifying the image," he turned a knob that did exactly that as he spoke, "gives a more detailed view."

"No need to haul out the body," John shot a look in Rodney's direction. "Some of us are already a little green around the gills."

Rodney glared back at John, but before he could speak, Lorne coughed discreetly, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Dr. Parrish, what can you tell us about the weapon that was used?" Lorne asked. 

"As you can see, the victim was stabbed multiple times, indicating that this was a crime of passion. Penetrative wounds like this are generally caused by knives, but these wounds indicate that they may have been caused by something else. As you can see, one side of the incision left an almost triangular tear of the muscle fiber."

"Dr. Parrish, could a decorative blade have made that kind of cut?" John asked.

"Theoretically, I suppose. Or it could be from a type of weapon I've never seen before."

Lorne looked up from his notes. "If this is likely a crime of passion, it makes sense that the perpetrator used a weapon of convenience, wouldn't you agree, McKay?"

"Find the weapon—find the murderer. That certainly seems likely. Was there any evidence on the pinky ring?" So far it was still his best lead to finding Malcolm.

"Forensics isn't done with it yet." Lorne nodded to Parrish and waved towards the door. "C'mon, I'll buy both of you a cup of coffee if you show me that list of missing jewelry again."

~*~

Rodney refused to drink coffee out of the morgue vending machine. "You'll buy both of us a decent cup that's not some dubious sludge swimming in Styrofoam, Lorne."

"You're sure it's not because you're still feeling woozy?" Lorne teased. 

"I was never—"

"You kind of were, Rodney," John added, sounding far more amused than concerned.

Rodney pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Can we just get back to the case, please? Outside in the fresh air, if you don't mind?"

In the end, they agreed to meet back at Rodney's office. Once inside, Rodney walked over to his crime board where he'd pinned pictures of the Keller family, Maybourne, and now Niam onto it. 

"I'll make the coffee."

Rodney barely acknowledged the offer with a nod and immediately dismissed it. John knew his way around the coffee maker and he knew where the good beans were kept as well as Rodney did. "Crap. I forgot the milk. Sorry about that, Lorne. I hope you like it black." 

Before Lorne could reply, John had the tiny fridge door open and pulled out a pint of half-and-half. He waggled it in front of Rodney's face. "I took care of it between chasing down suspects. And yes, you owe me."

"You always say that." Rodney tapped Malcolm's picture. "Who are we missing? Who else might know about Malcolm's disappearance and the missing family jewels?" The answer was right there in front of him, he knew it.

"You do know that because the family hasn't filed a missing person's report with the police department yet, I can't officially help you with your case," Lorne pointed out.

"Yes, yes," Rodney said, eyes still on the board—what was it he was missing? "But you're going to because it might be related to the murder you're investigating."

"True." Lorne took a step up to the board. He didn't touch it but his gaze lingered on every photo. "How much do either of you know about Elizabeth Caldwell?" 

"Me? Nothing." Rodney waved in John's direction. "Hey, Dearman, got anything you can contribute?" 

"Formerly Elizabeth Weir. Comes from old money. This is a second marriage for both her and Steven Caldwell." John paused. "It was never public knowledge just how much money her first husband Simon Wallace lost on Wall Street but they were divorced soon after."

Rodney added the words, _Gold Digger_ with a big question mark under her photograph. 

"Do you know anything about Caldwell's first wife?" Lorne asked. "I heard she used to be a pageant queen."

John took longer answering this time. Rodney watched as he poured the coffee, left Rodney's black, added half-and-half and one sugar to Lorne's and then fixed his own. 

"You know something," Rodney guessed. "Well? What?"

"She was Nancy Branigan before she became Mrs. Caldwell. You're right, Lorne. I heard she used to brag about being a pageant finalist. Miss Harvest Queen or something. Everyone figured she walked into her first marriage with her eyes wide open. You know— classic trophy wife. Not much love lost between her and Steven Caldwell." John shrugged. "Don't see how that helps our case, though." 

"How well did she, and I mean Elizabeth, know the Kellers?" Rodney asked. "More to the point, would she have known Malcolm or known about his relationship with Abrams prior to her marriage to Caldwell?"

"She seems to have gotten real cozy with the family since Malcolm disappeared, so if I had to guess, I'd say yes." John took a sip of his coffee and paused. He seemed to choose his next words very carefully. "Probably didn't know Abrams. At least, not well."

Rodney added another, smaller question mark to Elizabeth's photo. "I'll see what I can find out."

"Abrams is another matter," John continued. "He's kept to himself since he graduated high school. I've been digging into it ever since you mentioned his connection to Malcolm. There's not much information about him anywhere. No job. No living relatives. Only child. His parents died in a car crash four years ago."

"No job, or working under the table." Hazarding a guess, Rodney added, "So, he's either up to something nefarious or in desperate need of money."

"You think he murdered Maybourne?" John asked.

"Honestly, at this point, I have no idea who did it. Although, I do think he might have persuaded Malcolm to steal his mother's jewelry in the first place."

"Excuse me." Lorne interrupted, holding up his phone. "I need to take this."

Rodney drew a big, red question mark over Abrams' face. "Except for this big party Friday that he's supposed to be at, he's a man of mystery. Do we even know for certain he's involved with Malcolm?"

"You think Jennifer Keller is lying about that?" John asked.

"I think it's damn odd that neither she or her family has been concerned enough about her brother to report him missing to the police."

"Me, too." Lorne tucked his phone away in his pocket. "Sorry, I couldn't help overhear."

John snapped his fingers. "They know he's okay. That has to be it. But why hire Rodney at all?"

"Damn." Rodney pulled a photo from his desk and tacked it up on the crime board with the rest. It was a photograph of the missing jewels and a list of their value. "It's the jewelry. It's always been about the missing jewelry."

"Why not just collect the insurance money?" John asked. "Why have us chase after Malcolm or bring Abrams into it at all?"

"They can't file an insurance claim," Lorne said. "That call was from forensics. The ruby ring Maybourne was wearing is a fake."

"And if that's fake…" Rodney began.

"All of it's fake," John finished for him.

"Guys, it's been sweet, but I have to go." Lorne passed John his empty mug. "Keep me apprised. And, if I find out anything more, I'll get a message to you."

As soon as Lorne left, Rodney turned to John. "Now what?"

"Interviews?" John suggested.

"I have a feeling we've gotten all out of Jennifer that we're going to. Malcolm's parents certainly haven't been forthcoming. Lorne's trailing the jewelry angle. That leaves the Caldwells or Abrams." Rodney leaned back against his desk and glared at the crime board. "I hate to admit it, but Abrams is our best lead."

"There is another angle, but it's dangerous," John said.

"Don't say it."

"Maybourne. We should investigate his contacts."

"I told you not to say it." Rodney understood John's point, but he didn't have to like it. "You think Malcolm or Abrams contacted Maybourne because they needed a fence."

"Yeah. So do you, Rodney. You might not like the murder angle, but you need to face it. Malcolm Keller could be our murderer."

John was right. Rodney didn't have enough words to express how much he hated that idea. "God, I need more coffee."

"Thought you might." John took the empty cup out of Rodney's hands and replaced it with a full one. "You should eat something, too. It's getting late and I know you missed dinner. As much as you might like to, you can't live of pie and coffee, McKay."

Rodney waved him off. "I'll eat later." He kept going back to the crime board, hoping for some brilliant insight. Nope. Nada. 

"I've got a friend that specializes in knives. If I showed him the photos of attack wounds, he might be able to identify the weapon." John snapped his fingers. "Pass them over."

"See? That gory mess right there is why I have no intention of eating right now." Setting his cup down, Rodney pulled the photos from file drawer. "These are the only copies I have. Don't lose them."

"Right, because I'm so clumsy with evidence. I'm going to swing by Ronon's tonight. With any luck, he'll have an answer by tomorrow."

"Good. I plan to spend tomorrow tailing Elizabeth Caldwell. We know she's spending a lot of time at the Keller house and I'm finding it suspicious as to why." He stood and finished his coffee in one long, last swallow.

John took Rodney's coat off the hook and handed it to him. "Time to go home."

"Yeah. Meet at the usual time and place tomorrow to compare notes?" 

"Sure. If I find out anything that'll break the case open before that, I'll call."

Uncomfortable with the way John was avoiding eye contact, Rodney reached out and grabbed his forearm. "Do not go investigating Maybourne's mob contacts on your own. Let Detective Lorne handle it."

"I can do this," John protested. "He must have tried to fence the stuff to someone. Which means someone on the street knows what went down."

"And someone was unhappy enough to commit murder when they found out the jewelry was fake. I'm serious, Dearman, let the police handle it."

"You think whoever killed him left the ring on his finger as a warning?" John asked.

"I think it's likely." Locking the door behind him, Rodney gave John a gentle push towards the street. "Go home. Stick to the plan and no heroics, got it?"

~*~

Rodney picked up his binoculars and held them at the ready. He sat in his car staring out the window. No activity yet but it was nearly dinner time. Surely, Elizabeth Caldwell would have to leave soon.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he debated finding a different parking spot. From here he had a good view of the Keller's front door but he'd been parked here a long time. Long enough that he didn't dare drink any more coffee. Hopefully, no one in the house had noticed.

Finally! Elizabeth stepped outside, gave her niece Jennifer a peck on the cheek and got into her car. She never glanced his way as she pulled out of the driveway and drove right past him. 

Rodney followed at a distance, but never let her shiny black Camaro get out of sight. When she failed to take the left turn leading to her home, he began paying more attention to his surroundings.

Downtown. Okay, he could understand needing to run an errand before heading home, but to the tailor’s? Rodney drove past The Cut Above and parked just within view. He watched Elizabeth go in and come back out fifteen minutes later. She pulled away from the shop as Rodney watched. Damn it. He should have turned the car around while she was inside. Now he risked losing her. 

He’d just managed to get the Camaro back in his sights when she pulled over onto the side of the road. 

Prepared to drive by, as any innocent commuter would, he had to hit the brakes when she stepped into the middle of the road. 

"Are you crazy?" Oh right, roll the window down first. "Are you crazy?"

"Private Investigator Rodney McKay, I assume?" 

Oh, she was a cool customer all right. A slim, tall woman with dark hair and pale skin, she stood tall and defiant. Her entire posture screamed command of the situation. With an irritated sigh, Rodney pulled his car to the side of the road. The last thing he needed today was to be rear ended. 

"Yes, that's me." She walked over to the car and he held out his credentials to prove it. "I was just…" he kicked his binoculars under the car seat, "passing through."

"Try again."

"Fine. Yes, I was following you. And I must admit, I'm very curious about your side trip to the tailor. Malcolm is there, isn't he? In fact, Niam and you have known all along where he is. I wonder why you've kept that little secret from his family, hm?"

"Very clever, Mr. McKay. If you must know, I was trying to convince Malcolm to go home. Unsuccessfully, I might add. Although, you are wrong about one thing. I've only recently discovered where he's been hiding. And no, I haven't told my husband, nor do I intent to."

For the first time she seemed hesitant. "You may have heard that Steven was involved in a bribery scandal involving Aiden Keller. He was innocent but the taint of a scandal hung over his reputation for a long time after." Her expression hardened. "And I intend to do everything I can to protect him."

"Great. But that doesn't explain why you're protecting Malcom. What is he to you?"

"Malcom is nothing to me. I find him a spineless, spoiled brat but his mother, Dixie, has become a dear friend to me. Most of Steven's acquaintances turned a cold shoulder when he remarried. I don’t suppose you can imagine what it's like to be constantly compared to a former beauty queen?"

"Um, not really, no."

"Yes, well, suffice to say, Dixannia Keller never treated me like the second wife or like I wasn't good enough for Steven. I've tried my best to reassure her that her son is safe and still keep Malcolm's secret. Believe me, I wouldn't have gone along with the deception for a heartbeat but I owe Niam and he asked me to. Frankly, I'm tired of the deception. The little brat needs to go home and make a full confession to his parents."

Apparently, Niam was up to his ass in this whole mess. He should have seen it sooner. John had never trusted the tailor and Rodney should have known to follow John's instincts. "Mind telling me why Niam asked for your silence? If not, at least tell me why he was helping Malcolm?" 

Elizabeth glared. "I'm not about to tell you everything, and you don't need to know why I agreed to help. That's old history and none of your business. As far as Malcolm goes…." She paused.

Rodney waited for the answer as she stood there nervously biting her lip. As he waited, he mentally replayed the photos on his crime board. Yes! He should have seen it before—the family resemblance. It was there the whole time right in front of him. "Niam is Malcolm's father. I'm right, aren't I?"

For a moment Rodney thought she was going to slap him. It made him glad he'd never stepped out of the car in the first place. Leaning away from the open window, he waited until she visibly calmed down.

He expected pleas to keep his silence, or feminine tears. He was dead wrong. Instead, her eyes turned to steel. She placed both hands on the car door and pinned him in place with a look. "Since we're sharing secrets, Mr. McKay, I have one for you. Your partner John Dearman isn't who you think he is."

Rodney held his breath, caught between loyalty to John and undeniable curiosity. But he couldn't shut his ears off and she wasn't going to stop until she said her piece.

"His real name is John Sheppard. His father owns Sheppard Industries. The woebegone street rat you've been befriending is a millionaire. At least he was. It's quite possible he's been disowned by now. In either case, he's been taking you for a patsy, McKay. How does it feel to know you've been used?" 

She straightened and stepped away from the car. "Maybe you should take care of your own affairs before you pry into other people’s."

"Yes, yes, like I couldn't have found that out if I'd wanted to bother." Rodney enjoyed the startled expression on her face. Part of him wanted to ask Elizabeth for any insight into Jennifer Keller, for John's sake more than anything. The words were on the tip of his tongue when his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"McKay? It's Ronon Dex. How quickly can you get to the Northwest Community hospital?"

He barely noticed that Elizabeth had returned in her car. "The hospital?"

"Yeah. I had to bring John to the ER. Says he needs you."

"I'll be there in twenty—"

The call cut off. Hands shaking, Rodney stepped on the gas and took every shortcut he knew. By some miracle, he arrived at the hospital without getting a speeding ticket. Heart pounding, he ran inside to find a man fitting Mr. Dex's description waiting in the lobby. Not that John had provided much of a description but there wasn't anyone else around over six feet tall, sporting shoulder-length dreadlocks and wearing a buckskin coat.

"Mr. Ronon Dex, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"Where's John?"

"This way." Ronon headed down the hall and Rodney followed him, his head full of questions but his throat too dry to speak. 

"Rodney? You look like you've just seen a ghost. Take it easy, buddy." John sat propped up in the hospital bed trying to pretend everything was fine. Rodney wasn't fooled for a minute. 

"What the hell happened to you?" 

"I'm fine. Ronon, tell him I'm fine," John insisted.

"Bruised ribs and a slight concussion. Doc says he can go home but he can't be alone. Figured he could stay at your place."

John sighed. "Yeah. They'd like to keep me overnight but you know how I feel about hospitals. So? Can I? Stay at your place, Rodney?"

"Yes, of course." 

"Great. Ronon, hand me my pants."

Nothing moved quickly when it came to getting John released from the hospital, and that included getting him out of the hospital gown and into his pants. Rodney refrained from making comments or asking questions the entire time. That all changed once he got John back to his apartment and settled on the couch.

Rodney spread a blanket over John's legs. "Comfy? Need another pillow? Tea? Dancing girls to keep you entertained? Because right now I'd be happy to pay for Miss Can't-take-my-clothes-off-fast-enough if it keeps your ass on the couch and out of trouble! John, I told you to stay away from Maybourne's henchmen. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking, at least I didn't get shot."

Rodney could feel his blood pressure rise. He stood there, clenching his fists and fighting the urge not to throw something at John's head.

"It was a wasted effort. From what I could overhear, none of them knew anything." 

"Oh, you are not pulling the pout on me, trying to get sympathy." Rodney folded his arms over his chest and glared. "Don't even."

John leaned back and closed his eyes. "I have a headache." 

Rodney's anger deflated. He never could stay mad at John. Softly, he asked, "What happened?"

"I went to the bar I know he and his goons frequented. Kept my head down. Thought I was doing a good job of blending into the scenery but something must have given me away. The next thing I knew the goons had their guns out and were aiming at me. I didn't stick around. Made a run for the exit and took a dive down the stairs to avoid being shot. Damn. It was only five steps but it felt like twenty. I must've landed wrong. That's it."

Ronon passed John a cup of tea. "Drink that." He turned to Rodney. "Want some? You look like you could use it."

Rodney waved him off. "I'm good. I take it you got John to the hospital?"

"Yeah. He called me. I found him hiding behind some trash cans."

John groaned. "And I would appreciate it if you could just forget that part."

Rodney shared a look with Ronon. Yeah, fat chance of that. "Ronon Dex. I take it you’re one of John's underground connections?" 

"Yeah. I trade in stuff. It's all legit. Most of it, anyway. It helps me keep an eye on what's happening on the street." 

"I can see where he'd be useful," Rodney said, turning to John. "John?" He'd fallen asleep. "Should we leave him like that?"

"He'll be fine as long as you're here to keep an eye on him. Look, I gotta go. I have some stuff to take care of, but I'll be back tomorrow. You good?"

Rodney nodded. He barely glanced up as Ronon let himself out, locking the door behind him.

~*~

"Are you sure I have to go to this damn party tonight?" Rodney asked. He'd walked out into the living room where John lay relaxing on the couch. Just out of the shower, he still had a bath towel slung around his waist and was wiping the remains of shaving cream off his neck. It seemed he couldn't go fifteen minutes without checking on John. How in hell was he going to manage for an entire evening?"

"You have to go, Rodney," John insisted. "Abrams has been as slippery as a damn eel. This is the one place we can catch up with him."

"I hate this."

"I know. But I can't show up like this." One side of John's face was covered in a colorful bruise. The damn thing had blossomed into shades of purple and blue overnight and would only look worse before the day was out.

"You know how I get at social functions," Rodney said. The palms of his hands were sweating just thinking about it.

"I know. That's why I'm setting you up with a contact. She's going to be your date for tonight."

"Teyla agreed to that?" Ronon asked. He'd decided, without anyone actually asking, to stay here with John, like some self- appointed bodyguard. Rodney might not have mentioned aloud that he was grateful to Ronon for staying, but he had made sure the fridge was well stocked and had the latest movies cued up on the DVR. 

John grinned. "Maybe not to the date part, but she's going to meet him inside and help look for Abrams."

"Teyla who?" Rodney asked.

"Teyla Emmagan. She's a reporter and knows her way around. She's the one that gave me the background info about the Caldwells."

Rodney held up his hand. "Wait right there. A reporter? What part of keeping this quiet did that bump knock out of your head?"

John propped himself upright and took the cold pack Ronon handed him. Gently holding it against his cheek and without trying to move his jaw, he mumbled, "She's cool. Teyla knows how to keep things quiet. Better than you do, that's for sure."

"Fine. I'll give you that. When do I meet my date?"

"As I said, she'll meet you there. I sent her a picture of you and told her what you'd be wearing." John’s faced drained of color with the effort of sitting up and talking. He'd shifted the pillow to support his ribs.

Rodney didn't need words to know that John was in pain. He would have agreed to anything at that point to get John to lie back down and rest. "Looks like I'm off to a party."

Rallying enough to put a sparkle in his eye, John said, "I had Ronon go to Niam's and pick up your suit for you. It's hanging in your bedroom closet. All you have to do now is make yourself pretty."

~*~

Rodney showed his invitation at the door and was welcomed in without fanfare. He knew the suit made him look good but it hardly mattered since John wasn't there to appreciate it. Rodney ran that last thought through his head again. He wanted to look good for John. More surprisingly, that wasn't the revelation it should have been.

"Rodney McKay?" A gorgeous woman wearing a deep blue gown stood in front of him. Her tawny complexion glowed in the lamplight. She wore her copper hair in an upsweep that showed off her neck and collarbones. Rodney bit his lip, waiting for his libido to kick in. Barely a twinge. She was no John Dearman and his body knew it. 

He desperately cast his gaze around the room, checking out every female within view. Tall, short, thin or voluptuous, none seemed worth a second glance. Well, crap. It did sort of explain why he hadn't missed dating lately. 

"John did tell you about me, didn't he?"

Rodney's gaze snapped back to her face. She was looking at him with an air of amusement that he supposed he deserved. "Teyla? Right, yes. John told me I'd find you here."

"Excellent." She smiled and held out her hand. "Abrams arrived earlier and I've been watching him. I did not wish to approach him until you arrived. Come this way."

She led him past a string quartet playing a soft rendition of Summertime. "Do you know why he decided to show his face now?" Rodney asked.

"No. But nearly everyone here knows the Kellers. I don't think it's a coincidence. Abrams may be seeking information." 

Rodney nodded absently, his attention taken by a waiter passing by with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. His eyes followed the tray of food despite Teyla's exasperated sigh.

"As I was saying, Rodney, Abrams may have come here to discover if any information leaked about the robbery. There he is." Teyla nodded towards the back of the room. 

Abrams stood against the wall next to a large window, half hidden by the overdone drapery. 

"Wait." She laid her hand on Rodney's wrist, keeping him from stepping forward. "There is a library on the other side of the alcove. Allow me to draw him inside. Then we can question him privately."

Agreeing, Rodney waited for her to make her move. As soon as she lured Abrams into the library, he stepped in behind her and closed the door. "I'm Rodney McKay, private investigator, and I've been looking for you, Mr. Abrams."

Abrams face crumpled in front of his eyes. Back to the wall, he slid down until he was sitting with his ass on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Rodney shot a panicked look in Teyla's direction. He had no idea what to do if Abrams started crying.

"Anthony, we just want to ask a few questions," Teyla said. 

Abrams wiped his sleeve across his eyes and sniffled. "We just wanted the money. It wasn't even my idea. We were going to go to Canada, get away from our parents and start fresh. Oh, God, please don't arrest me."

"What's your connection to Harry Maybourne?" Rodney asked. 

"I—I didn't know him. Not personally, but Malcolm's uncle Steve had some kind of past dealing with him. We…we needed someone who could trade the jewelry for cash for us without raising suspicion."

"You needed a fence and Maybourne's name came up," Teyla clarified.

"Yeah." Abrams didn't look good. His face was pale, with beads of nervous sweat breaking out across his forehead.

Rodney crouched down to face him. "Did you know the jewels were fake?"

"What? No! It's fake? All of it? We did this for nothing?"

"Yes. I need to see Malcolm. Where is he?"

"I left him hiding out at Niam's. We couldn't have anyone make the connection between Malcolm and his mom's jewelry, so I told him to stay there and I'd do it. Oh, God." Abrams looked ready to burst into tears. "Nothing bad was supposed to happen."

"Right. Nothing bad." Rodney stood and stared down at him. "Including murder?"

"Mur…murder? Who was murdered?" Abrams’ gaze shifted from Rodney to Teyla and back. "Who was it?"

"Your fence, Harry Maybourne," Rodney said, without sympathy.

"Harry's really dead?"

"Very dead." Teyla’s sharp gaze dissolved any remaining stiffness from Abrams' spine and he began babbling.

"Nothing went like it was supposed to. At first, Harry seemed pleasant enough to deal with. We— Malcolm and I—were counting on his parents not reporting the robbery. But Harry must have recognized the pieces, anyway, and he wouldn't leave it—wouldn't leave us alone.

"We only wanted to get rid of a couple pieces. Even I knew dumping everything at once was a bad idea, but that wasn't enough for Harry. He wanted all of it. He threatened to expose us if we didn't hand it over to him."

"Then what happened? Were you or Malcolm there when Maybourne was murdered?" Rodney asked.

"God, no. I swear I don't know anything."

"You said you got Maybourne's name from Steven Caldwell. Was he involved?" Abrams shook his head no, but Rodney wasn't done asking questions.

"What about Mr. Keller? Do you think he'd kill someone to get the jewelry back? Or to avoid a family scandal?"

Abrams pressed his back into the wall. "I—I don't know. God, I hope not. It would kill Malcolm to find out his dad had murdered someone."

Rodney dropped his business card into Abrams’ lap. "I want to see you and Malcolm Keller in my office by tomorrow at three p.m. If you don’t show, I'll have you and your boyfriend brought up on charges of theft and accessory to murder. Do you understand?"

"I suggest you heed those words, Mr. Abrams," Teyla added. "As a reporter for the Daily Times, I assure you that if you don't do as Investigator McKay requests, I will personally see the entire sordid scandal makes the front page. **Son Puts Price On His Mother's Love**. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Pleased with Teyla's support, Rodney crooked his arm for Teyla to take, turned on his heel and left Abrams curled on the floor with his mouth still gaping open in shock.

Arm in arm, they were several steps away before Teyla asked, "Do you think he will show up tomorrow?"

"I believe he's smart enough—barely—to know what's good for him. Right now, I don't have proof of anything but once Malcolm Keller shows up, as long as he does show up, I've solved the missing person's case I was hired to do."

"And that's enough for you? Knowing there is still a murderer on the loose, you can just ignore it?"

"Believe me, I'd love to know whodunit. But I'm a practical man and we can't solve all the world's problems now, can we? Besides, I have confidence in Detective Lorne's ability to find the killer."

"That's not good enough." Teyla planted her feet, yanking Rodney to a halt. "You're so close, don't give up now."

Rodney snapped. "Fine! Let's look at the facts. We know Malcolm and Abrams stole his mother's jewelry. We know, assuming Abrams is telling the truth, that he contacted Maybourne and planned to have him fence the stuff. And we damn well know things went wrong from there. Beyond having a list of murder suspects as long as my arm, we don't have a solid motive, we don't have a murder weapon, and we don't have a witness."

It didn't matter if Teyla glared at him, it didn't change the facts. But she had helped him tonight and Rodney felt bad for not showing more gratitude. He awkwardly patted her hand. "I'm sorry. What if I promise to keep you in the loop if any new information turns up?"

"I would like to be there tomorrow when Tony Abrams and Malcolm come to your office."

"Consider it done." Suddenly exhausted, Rodney briskly said his goodbyes and left. He couldn't wait to get back home and tell John about the night's events. Finally, they were going to lay eyes on Malcolm Keller. John was going to love this plan. Because the moment Malcolm sat down in his office, Rodney intended to handcuff him to the chair and keep him there until his sister showed up.

~*~

Rodney walked into his living room. Frowning, he hung up his coat and wondered where everyone else was. He quickly checked his phone. Surely Ronon would have called him if John needed to go back to the hospital. No messages.

Hearing a clatter coming from the kitchen, he breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, they were probably having a late snack. Good idea, he was feeling a mite peckish himself.

Rodney walked into the kitchen and screamed.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay." John patted Rodney on the shoulder. At least he hadn't laughed.

"What the hell is that?!" Rodney pointed at the countertop, or more accurately the large chunk of raw meat sitting there with a half dozen scissors sticking out of it.

"That was my idea," John said, proudly. "You'll know why when you hear Ronon's theory. Tell him, Ronon."

"When I picked up your suit at the tailor's, I noticed a bunch of different scissors. Here, look." Ronon pulled a scissor blade out of the meat and brought it over to show him. "This kind uses a screw as a pivot point."

Excitedly, John jumped into the conversation. "You can take a pair of blades apart for sharpening or to adjust the tension. I never knew that before. Ronon explained it, so I had him go out and get a bunch of scissors in different sizes. We took them apart and now we're seeing which ones resemble the stab wounds."

Rodney sat down, stunned. "You mean it was the goddamn tailor the whole time?"

With a grin, Ronon picked up the largest of the blades and stabbed it into the roast. "Lorne will want his own forensics people to check, but this matches the wound. That Niam guy did it."

"I'll bet they'll find blood trace on the cutting table too," John sat down next to Rodney and pulled out his phone. "Do you want to call Lorne or do you want me to do it?"

"You do it. And then I'll tell you my plan to catch Malcolm."

~*~

Rodney exchanged a look with John, knowing his expression mirrored the same shit-eating grin on John's face. Yes, it was still black and blue but at least John had stopped moving like his ribs hurt.

Malcolm Keller, however, wore a look of horror. He was currently sitting in Rodney's office handcuffed to the chair. "You can’t do this! Let me go!" He pulled at the restraint until he seemed to realize he was only hurting himself. 

Abrams glared. He hadn't faired quite so well. Rodney had run out of chairs so John had handcuffed him to the radiator. He had to sit on the floor to keep the metal cuffs from biting into his wrists. "What about me?" 

"If Jennifer wants you, she can have you, too. I really don't care," Rodney said. 

"How do you think Lorne is fairing?" John asked. "Damn, I wish I could be there when they arrest Niam."

"Somebody say my name?"

"Lorne!" John grinned. "Tell me you made an arrest."

"John, Rodney." Lorne looked at the two men handcuffed in Rodney's office. "It looks like you've been having a fun day."

He made a wide berth around Malcolm and came over to lean against Rodney's desk." I wanted to personally come to thank you and let you know what happened when we made the arrest. It turns out these two boys had nothing to do with the murder. It remains to be seen if Mrs. Keller wants to press charges."

"My mom wouldn't!" Malcolm protested. 

Lorne sighed, "Yes, I suspect you're right about that."

"Well, what happened?" Rodney stomped back the urge to shake Lorne until he coughed up the details. From the look on John's face, he felt just as impatient. 

As he waited for Lorne to tug his notebook out of his pocket and slowly flip through the pages— deliberately dragging things along—and before Lorne could speak a single word about the arrest— Jennifer Keller stepped into his office. 

"Malcolm?"

"Sis?"

"Mr. McKay, why is my brother handcuffed to the chair?"

"Well, I was considering just gift-wrapping him, but I ran out of tape."

She stamped her foot. "Release him immediately!"

"After he gets paid," John smirked. "Missing brother, found and delivered. You can't fault McKay for not letting him run off again."

"Oh. Fine." She pulled out her checkbook. John stopped her, laying his hand on hers. "Cash, if you don't mind. Be a shame for McKay to go all the way to the bank and find out you'd stopped payment on it."

"You don't trust me, John?" She asked, sweetly, batting her eyelashes.

"No. I don't. Why do you think I called you and told you to bring a cash payment in the first place?" 

With an exasperated huff, she gave in and handed Rodney the money. "Thank you for finding and returning Malcom. I don't suppose you know where the jewelry is?"

"I never asked him," Rodney said, pocketing the cash. "Besides, you only hired me to find your brother, and now, since it's evidence in a murder investigation…"

Malcom's face paled. Rodney grimly smiled and continued, "Well, I'm sure Detective Lorne, here, will have some questions for everyone concerned."

Rodney watched Malcom squirm in his seat at Lorne's deadpan expression. 

"John, if you don't mind?" Rodney asked. 

John ambled over to the men, flashing the handcuff key. Rodney wondered briefly if either of them would make a run for it but they seemed to be on their best behavior under Jennifer's disapproving gaze. Just to be on the safe side, Rodney gripped Malcolm by the elbow and walked all three of them to the door. 

Happily shutting the door behind them, Rodney turned to John. "Can't say I'm sorry to see that case closed. What a pain in the ass. Okay, Lorne. Your turn. "

"Just a minute." Lorne went over to the window. 

John joined him and then waved Rodney over. "Look."

"Is that-? You sent for three police cars? Isn't that overkill?" Rodney asked. 

"The department is doing me a favor. I told the chief I want all three of them brought in for questioning. Chief Hammond's the one that suggested keeping them separated."

"What happened with Niam? You did arrest him?" Rodney asked.

"He's in custody." Lorne sat with one hip on Rodney's desk, pulled up his sleeve to reveal a two-inch-wide bandage. "As soon as we showed him the warrant, he attacked me with a pair of scissors."

"Did he tell you why he killed Maybourne?" Rodney asked. "It was to protect his son, wasn't it? I knew it. I told you Niam was Malcolm's biological father, didn't I?"

"Yes, McKay, you told me. That's not why he killed Maybourne, though."

"It was the jewelry." John nodded knowingly. "I told you, Rodney, Niam was up to no good. I bet he wanted to cash in on the jewelry and had to kill Maybourne to get to it."

"Nope. Sorry, that wasn't it, either. You're both wrong. By the way, thanks for asking if I'm all right."

"Smugness does not sit well on you, Detective," Rodney snapped. "Just tell us."

"Okay, okay. It seems Niam Fisher never stopped pining for Dixie Keller. Did you know—no, of course you didn't." Lorne stopped to rub his forehead. "Sorry, this case has given me a damn headache."

Rodney shared a look of sympathy with John. This case had given them all a headache. 

"As I was saying, Niam told us he'd designed the jewelry in question specifically for Dixie. Apparently, as an expression of his undying love. I doubt he had any idea it had been sold and replaced with fakes. Otherwise, this might have gone a lot differently."

John placed an aspirin in Lorne's hand and passed him a glass of water. "Don't stop there. Tell us the rest."

"Thanks." Lorne swallowed the aspirin before continuing. "We think Maybourne discovered the connection between the two men so he went to A Cut Above and threatened Niam if he didn't get him the rest of the pieces." 

"That didn't go over well." Lorne flipped to a page in his notebook. "Yep. Defilement. That was the word he used. Niam confessed to being enraged and killing Maybourne in a jealous fury. I'll leave it to the psychoanalysts to come up with the exact term for it."

Lorne glanced at his watch. "Will you look at that, my shift’s almost over, aside from the pile of paperwork waiting on my desk for me. Catch you two later. And, guys, thanks again for your help." 

As soon as he left, Rodney locked the door. Seeing John's questioning look, he said, "There's something I want to say to you and I don't want us to be interrupted."

"Sure. Is it about the case?"

"No. Although I learned a few things during our investigation." Nervously, he ran a hand through his hair. "I know what your real name is. Elizabeth told me."

"You were bound to find out sometime, Rodney. Are you mad?"

"God, no. It's just a name, it doesn't change how I…. Let me start again. Last night I learned something."

"Something else, you mean," John teased. 

"Will you just let me get this off my chest? It's important. I think I know why Jennifer went after your brother, dumped him and then went after you. I think there's a good chance—"

"This is about Jennifer Keller?!"

Rodney groaned. "Please listen. I think Jennifer was trying to figure out why men didn't hold an interest for her, but she kept trying. I'd bet good money that you and your brother just got caught up in her sexual identity crisis."

John blinked. "Didn't see that coming." He paused, cocked his head and stared at Rodney as if he'd never seen him before. "And you came to this conclusion last night at the party."

Swallowing thickly, Rodney nodded. He stared down at his shoes and mumbled, "It happened to me. Teyla and every other gorgeous woman there…." He turned his face away from John, the instinct to hide even while he confessed too overwhelming to resist. 

"And…." John prompted.

"They weren't you. None of them were you. They might as well have been wallpaper for all the excitement that engaged, or um—didn't come up." Rodney took a step back, shielding his face. He didn't think John would hit him but he wasn't completely certain. John must be feeling shocked by now. Who knew what kind of reaction—

"Well, it's about goddamn time."

Rodney's head snapped up. "What?"

John grabbed Rodney by his shirtfront and slowly backed him up against the wall. "For a PI, you really need to brush up on investigation skills, Rodney."

"I do?" Rodney couldn't tear his gaze from John's mouth. He'd been studying its lush lower curve and the tiny dip in his top lip for years now, but he'd never seen it up so close. 

"I'm going to kiss you, now." 

"Oh." John's mouth. Warm, alive, sweet and demanding; Rodney fell into the kiss. Hot. Ohhh. When John pulled away, Rodney's mouth followed, needing more.

"You okay?" John's hair was a mess. His mouth, red and plush, made Rodney fully aware of how badly he wanted to make John look like that all the time.

"Okay? Yes. I'm okay. Is that okay?"

John burst out in a snort of laughter and pulled him close. Oh God, that felt wonderful. Rodney slid his arms around John and shyly buried his face in John's neck. He carefully avoided the bruised side of his face. Just the idea of causing John more pain made his stomach clench. 

"So, we're good? You're really okay with this?" 

Seriously? John was still asking if this was okay? "Idiot."

"Have I ever mentioned how much you surprise me? You do, Rodney. Every goddamn day." 

Loathe to break the embrace, there was one niggling question he had left to ask. Rodney pulled away just far enough to look John in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell me your last name was Sheppard? It's not like it would have made a difference to me. Why tell me your name was John Dearman?"

"Because I knew your reputation as a PI before we met and it amused me to hear this self-professed great investigator call me by the wrong name." John's expression softened. "Since we're confessing, I have to admit that working with you, getting to know you, changed all that." 

"I reached a point where I wanted to tell you my real name, just to get the truth out there. But then…." John tenderly brushed his fingertip over Rodney's lower lip. "I began to like the way it sounded when you said it. Eventually, in my head, every time you called me dear man, it sounded like a promise."

~*~


End file.
